Written for an inspired competition from Sex Blog of Sorts.
*Contains violent acts and what could be considered consensual non consent
She came to me all dressed up, flawless hair and makeup, as if she knew that the destruction of such well kept looks would tempt me even further. Her lipstick matched her nail polish. Almost cocky, she said it was the color “O”, as if it was a demand that she would be getting.
My friend walked into the room at that moment and grabbed her arms, forcing them behind her. Coming from behind, her eyes widened in shock and her mouth made a little O as she cried out. I could smell her fear and hear her panicked breathing as I strode across the room. I thought perhaps she would cry out, but she seemed to revive herself and stared at me instead.
It was all the permission I needed. While my friend tied her wrists behind her, making her proud chest stand out, I took out my knife and made she that her wide eyes focused on it before pressing the blade to her throat, drawing it along her collarbone, and slashing down the center of her dress. She wore no bra, and steel traced the pale globes and trailed down her stomach.
I wondered if she breathed, as her body was as still and silent as the room.
My friend kneed her behind the knees and she kneeled down in front of me, her beautiful lipstick still perfectly in place. I handed my friend the knife so he could strip away her dress from off her arms and took the pad of my thumb and smeared the color across her face, into a grotesque clownish smile.
I went to take off my belt and she must’ve thought that my pants would follow, as she licked those stained lips, whether in anticipation or nervousness I could have cared less. I would have been happy with either reaction. I moved behind her, my friend moved in front, and it was his fly that came down. She turned her head, but he grabbed her chin and pressed into her jaw, telling her to open.
My belt came down upon her back. She jerked, her body instinctively moved away from the impact and her mouth came around my friend’s erection. I warned her to be good to him, as I eased the force of the belt upon her skin and kept a rhythm that would keep her warm but not struggling. When he pulled out of her mouth, I crisscrossed her creamy hue with harsh red shades. Her body tried to move away from me, her back arched and her knees crawled a few paces.
She still said nothing.
I yanked her hair, forced her back into her kneeling position, as he slapped her breasts and twisted her nipples painfully. She cried out, the cry sounding more like the “O” she wanted than a plea. His hands explored and pushed her against me, offering no solace for the direction that she had chosen.
I pulled her up and pulled the material out of my pocket, using it as a gag. I smiled at the picture of the colored lips on either side of the material. Once tied off, my hand went to her tied hands and she squeezed. It was all the encouragement I needed.
My friend kicked at her calves until she spread her legs and our hands took turns striking her pale supple flesh, his still on her breasts and mine on her thighs and ass. With her legs spread, I could smell her arousal; see the faint wet line through her fabric. I bit into her ass with need and she tensed under my teeth, her groan mingled with the slaps still being inflicted in front of her.
I moved around in front of her and he began untying her wrists, as if we both knew that she needed to lie down. I yanked down her undergarment, fully revealing her. As I straightened, I relished seeing the mascara trailed tears mingling with smeared lipstick and gag.
She was beautiful.
I reached down and propelled the palm of my hand to connect with her lower lips. She moaned and her eyes shut, and I smacked her again and again until my own hand stung in her juices.
She was so wet.
We moved her to the bed and her gaze was frantic with need, with fear of the unknown. Her body glistened with sweat and painted in reddened marks. My knees parted her thighs and I dragged my fingernails against her red welted lower lips, the color almost perfectly matching her lipstick and nails, pressed my fingers deep against her plump folds, pressed the pain deeper. She screamed and my friend untied her gag as if to hear the musical sound of it, bent down and kissed her salty stained tears.
I wondered if her mouth tasted delightful and alarmed; she smelled it.
My fingers slipped inside her depths as he fucked her face, our movements eventually synching into the same pattern, his relentless hips and guttural groan spurring my fingers on, my other hand raining down on her thigh. She drenched my fingers when she choked, whimpered and mewled.
As he left her, I flipped her over and entered her. She begged, pleaded, cried for her lipstick’s namesake. I pounded into her, bit into her side. He flogged her back as I tugged my mouth away. I ordered her to tighten, to come around me, and she obediently did as she was told.
As I pulled away and she crawled into my friend’s lap, I saw the beginnings of her bruises. I knew she would be pleased with the results, would marvel over them for days.
She had asked for this brutality and beast that I was, I was more than happy to give it to her.